Silver Thunderbird
by Ian D UK
Summary: In 1999 Rayna and Deacon embark on a tour that will alter their lives forever... Originally part of Nov FanFic Challenge
1. Chapter 1

Silver Thunderbird

_A/N A writing challenge eh? Hell why not, possibly a precursor to something longer, here's a oneshot for the pot. Written like its 1999. The single line (miss) quoted lyrics are by Billy Edd Wheeler and Jerry Leiber - '_Jackson_' and __Lyle Lovett, Willis Alan Ramsey and Alison Rogers _-'That's Right (You're Not from Texas'.)_Thanks to '_Sunday_ for setting this thing up and to everyone who's clicked through._

As the final chords merged with audience cheers, blazing yellow light flooded the festival stage illuminating its headline star. Rayna stood, exhausted but exhilarated, her auburn hair set off by a black jacket and tight silver top. "Thank you Texas, did y'all have good time?" More roars. "Thank you to the Organisers, the crew who worked so hard, my great band, and of course my wonderful guitar player." The whoops reached another level. "Give it up y'all for Mr Luke Wheeler!"

The rows had started even before the tour did, and were still rumbling after 3 shows into the 20 date, 4 week rodeo. A tour begun in Tennessee and broadly tracking a lazy spiral of arenas, festivals and large theatres, winding up in NYC in August. Two weeks earlier, Rayna and band had spent an intense period in a disused aircraft hangar, oh the glamour, rehearsing over 35 songs, whittling down a set. And here was the first problem. When she handed her band leader two lists, one for festivals the other for indoor shows, Deacon had instantly spotted the elephant in the room, or rather the one missing from it. "Where do we do 'A Life That's Good?'"

"We're not. I'm resting it."

Deacon spluttered into his Styrofoam coffee cup. "You gone crazy Ray?"

"I want to keep things fresh. Anyway, I never feel the song works in a big show, not like it did at the Bluebird."

For a moment Deacon considered giving the CMA award winning, Queen of Country a lecture in show dynamics, but thought better of it. They both knew that song could work anywhere and that artists from Led Zeppelin to Paul McCartney had successfully used acoustic breaks in the middle of stadium shows to give ebb and flow. But the set Rayna was proposing had little of that. Packed full of power pop country crossovers it was heavy on the latest album and worryingly light on Claybourne/Jaymes originals.

"Well it sure is MTV friendly fodder. But there is much more to you than that."

"Deacon," she drew a deep breath, "I've had Buck on my back for a month, and no doubt he's been getting the heavy talk from Edgehill. It's tough out there. I'm up against Shania, and Reba, and Faith, there's only so much airplay I can grab and the main aim of the tour is to boost the album.

"Yeah, but the lack of _our_ music Rayna, that don't impress me much."

The joke failed, bitterly. "Write me a song as good as that one," Rayna spat back, "and I'll open the show with it."

Deacon's eyes drilled into her before he marched away to inform the band.

A pick-up truck sped them away from the festival site early morning soundcheck, back to the downtown luxury hotel. Deacon sat up front, Rayna in the rear checking her schedule with the Edgehill lackey seconded to the tour. "Magazine interview at 12.30." The young woman told Rayna, "no need for photos they can use the media pack images. Then radio at 2 and more press until 3.30. A Jeep will take you and Mr Claybourne to the site at 6 and your stage time is 9pm. As headliner you will be following Luke Wheeler and his band."

"Fine."

Deacon cut in. "Unless that son of a… overruns."

"Relax hun," said Rayna, "there's flex in the start times, it's all covered."

They pulled up by impressive glass doors, Deacon was about to stride in blinkered, but halted when Rayna stopped to sign for 2 girls waiting outside. He shifted from foot to foot unable to force a smile. No one asked for him to sign. Once inside a lobby that felt about the size of a small Cathedral they made their way to the elevators, there to be joined by Edgehill girl, now carrying a manila envelope.

"This came for you Miss Jaymes."  
"Rachel, if we are going to survive the next month together you will have to start calling me Rayna, and you can call Mr Claybourne here at any time after 10.30am." She adopted a stage whisper. "He's not really a morning person." She took the envelope and stepped inside, ready to be whisked to the top floor suite. As the doors closed Rayna wilted. She had about an hour to turn herself around, Deacon could just flick though cable TV until tonight's pick up."

"You OK?" he asked.

"Yeah." Normally she was excited to be back on the road, this time it was weighing her down. "Just not really feeling it right now, I'll be fine by tonight."

They entered to suite and Rayna crashed onto the chaise longue.

"What's in the envelope, another lawsuit from your father?"

"Ha ha, very funny." She opened it, "oh, it's from Teddy, background info on a possible investment. I'll take a look on the way to the interview."

She seemed perkier, Deacon scowled. "How the hell did he know we would be in Austin?"  
"Because I gave him my itinerary, the Wellbeck profit statement is due soon and I want to know my ROI."

"Deacon didn't ask what an ROI was. "Maybe if you spent less time playing at being a business woman you wouldn't be too tired for the music. You know, the thing you are good at."

Silently Rayna headed for the shower, cursing how events were sliding out of her control.

The Teddy Conrad thing, she knew, bothered Deacon even more than her set list. A friendship begun after Teddy helped to secure her house, their pairing had Tandy's encouragement and even Bucky's quiet approval. Through his diverse range of contacts, Teddy could suggest new ways to maximise her stupefying royalty cheques, and Rayna soon built up a discreet portfolio of investments, including stakes in sustainable forestry and an artisan bakery business. But more than that Rayna found Teddy Conrad simply easy to be with. A rock that she would soon need. In '97 when Deacon started a second period of rehab, it was to Teddy she turned. What began as time killing restaurant meals, morphed into nights in, at hers. Rayna ran the full range of her cooking skills from A to B, laughed, cried and swore with Teddy, and shared the sick irony that her best method of coping with Deacon's drink problem, was to open up to her own fears via large glasses of Californian white. Deacon's return didn't break that friendship and having someone in her life with no connection to the country scene gave Rayna breathing space, pulling her free from the insanity of that whirlwind. If that made Deacon jealous, then tough.

Media duties over it was back to the hotel again. The curtains were drawn in a suite illuminated only by flickering TV playing re-runs of a soap. He wasn't watching it, he wasn't checking the papers Rachel had sent up with the first reviews, he wasn't scribbling lyrics or noodling on his guitar. He was hunched on a chair staring blankly into space over a half empty bottle of Jim B.

"Deacan?"

"Huh."

A part of Rayna brain begun calculating high grade math. How far gone was he, would he sober in time? She needed more data, so continued talking casually.

"That was a pretty easy afternoon, they all ask the same questions."

"Great." Monosyllabic, not a lot of help there. She ploughed on.

"You'll never guess what Teddy's suggesting. The wife of one his clients buys these gorgeous boots from this bespoke shoemaker. I could become a partner in the business and endorse a range of cowgirl boots."

A twisted smirk. "Congratulations Ray. If perfect Teddy Conrad says it's a good deal then it's sure to make you millions."

Even by recent standards it was a low blow. "That's hardly fair is it?"

"And that matters right now? You're singing songs you don't believe in, every night on stage, because some geek with a spreadsheet tells you that's what the numbers prove."

"I believe in every song I put out there. You know that, and Teddy certainly doesn't dictate my set lists."

"But it's all part of the same game, can't you see that? Three chords and the truth baby, that's how we started this and now look at us."

Rayna was angry now, tired of tiptoeing in stilettos. "Yeah, let's look at us." Her Southern chirp took on an icy edge, "I see two professionals trying to stay at the top of the league, not a couple of principled bums, scrounging an existence from bar tips. That attitude only takes you so far, don't believe me, go ask Beverly."

He got up and moved towards her, but stumbled over his own drink-tied legs and lurched forwards, pushing Rayna into the hotel room wall. The smell of liquor infused with sweat was overpowering. Instinctively she pushed back, and he crashed to the floor, taking the whiskey glass with him.

No-one spoke, Deacon breathed heavily. "God Ray, you thought I was going to…. Never… I just wanna hold you, know that the real person is still inside." He was on the verge of tears, but Rayna knew from experience they were 40% proof. She had to be cruel to be kind.

"Forget it. You're not well, I'm giving you the night off. She moved towards the bedroom door, her right hand involuntary twisting the golden charm at her neck. "I'm going to make some calls."

Half an hour latter Rayna was in the hotel lobby nervously approaching the concierge desk.

"Yes Mam?"  
"I need a favour from you guys, an invisible one."

"Of course, I understand, how can we be of assistance?"

"Should anyone call tonight from the Truman suite and ask for alcohol, can you make sure that order is, er mislaid?"

"Certainly Mam, that will not be a problem."

Rayna breathed with relief, she was well aware of the legendary reputation the hotel had for discretion and was certain the desk had received far more lurid request than this one, but it still wasn't enjoyable.

"Thank you so much" and she causally dropped a sealed envelope containing two $100 bills onto the white marble desk top.

On the drive to the festival Rayna did some mental juggling. Rachel could get her stage clothes delivered on time, check. But promoting her rhythm guitarist to lead was going to leave a hole in the sound, could she get someone good enough to dep at no notice if she arranged tabs for the new songs? At the artist gate Security had not been expecting her arrival this early either, but her Texan flagged wrist band and an Interstate call from Bucky soon cleared a path. Nevertheless her dressing room trailer wasn't available yet, so Rayna walked through the afternoon heat with Rachel to the green room tent, where she found Luke holding court.

"Rayna! You come over especially to see me and the boys play?"

"You know I always enjoy your shows Luke. But the hotel kitchen's a little hot right now, so I what I really wanted was fresh air."

"Plenty here in Texas, just as long as you steer clear of the John and those people with funny smelling cigarettes."

"Can I have a word in private Luke?"

"Sure thing Mam" and he lead the way to his trailer.

"So," Rayna concluded, "can you suggest anyone who can play rhythm for me?"

"Can beat that," he replied, "supposing you swap out a couple of songs for some classic duets and I'll do the job for you personally?"

"Really? you'd do that, after your set?"

"Of course, why on earth would anyone with half a brain cell not want to sing and play with you?"

It was ten past when Rayna took the festival stage "Good Evening Austin, wasn't Luke just fantastic? Well, tonight I've got a special surprise for y'all…"

"… _We've been talkin' 'bout AUSTIN, ever since the fire went out…"_

"… _You're not from Texas, but Texas want's you anyway..."_

"…and of course my wonderful guitar player. Give it up y'all for Mr Luke Wheeler…"

Backstage towels and champagne bubbles… a bear hug from Luke… the media scrum... the crawl in the jeep to the exit gate… the brightly lit freeway… the heavy serenity of an out of hours hotel... the think, grey, top floor corridor carpet, enveloping her tired feet… Luke's parting words, "Any problems I'm staying on the floor below. You holler, got me?"

Rayna let her eyes adjust again to the gloom of the suite, one freestanding lamp set dim. Deacon was on the chaise, T shirt and boxers, a sheet half wrapped around him and snoring loudly. The hotel room's "Do Not Disturb" sign was propped up nearby against an empty mineral water bottle. Rayna went into bathroom, the light flicked on and buzzed. Just like a teenager coming home way past curfew she was scared the noise may wake him. The toilet smelt of bleach and in the sink a grotesque cocktail of whiskey, beer and every miniature the well stocked minibar formally held. He'd poured the lot of them in, just to make sure they hadn't gone down his neck. Mechanically Rayna tidied the room and herself, got into bed, closed her eyes and waited for the morning.

It was the bedside phone that woke her. "Good Morning Madam, we have a room-service order for breakfast for 1 to be ready in 10 minutes, will that be convenient?" Under the silver platter chilled fresh fruit, steaming pancakes, thick yoghurt. On the side, strong, aromatic black coffee and atop the crisp linin napkin a single Texan yellow rose. It was gone nine, Deacon nowhere to be seen. Nothing surprising there, she had been exhausted after the festival performance and nothing short of a small earthquake would have raised her during the night. There were no calls on her cell and he wasn't responding to his, so Rayna ate with the TV for company, surfing to find a local news channel, just in case. Then as she was wondering whether or not to call Rachel, the phones rang again. She picked up the one in the lounge area. "Miss Jaymes, your car is ready for you."

Today was a rest day. "Excuse me? I didn't order a car."

"The driver was very definite Mam, shall I ask him to go around the block for ten minutes in case there is some misunderstanding?"

"No, no. It's OK. I'll come down and see for myself." In the elevator she remembered Rachel. Not employing a full time PA, it hadn't even occurred to her to delegate. Anyway she was curious, first room service breakfast now a mysterious messengers, was this some kind of Claybourne apology?

The flawlessly made up receptionist smiled at her, "It's parked up in the drop off area. Go to your right Madam."

Walking outside Rayna heard music first, drifting over the hotel concourse , 'Silver Thunderbird' the song must about 10 years old now, what was the name of that artist? Deacon would know, he always had anything like that on tap. She turned the blind 90 degree corner and there it was, a 50s mint condition, tail finned Thunderbird convertible, in silver, glinting in the sunshine, portable CD player on the back blearing out the song. In the driver's seat, facing away from her a man in a cap. Deacon tuned his head and smiled lopsidedly "Good Morning, ready for a little drive?"

They were bowling out of town before she got her breath back. "How did you manage…"

"Had a chat with the concierge team." He raised his voice above the engine. "Once I got that crap out of my system I went down and told them what I had in mind. Jeez those guys have phone numbers for everything, just as long as your Amex card is valid. Best 50 buck tip I've ever given. No wait, the ONLY 50 buck tip I've ever given! Rayna smiled thinking of the tax free income her tour party was generating for the hotel staff. They pulled up at a red light, Hair tied back and with no make up Rayna was relieved people were looking at the car, not her. "Deacon, you cannot drive one mile more until you tell me who sings that freaking song."

"Marc Cohen." The light changed, Deacon stamped down on the gas and the car shot forward pushing Rayna back in her seat. "'91," he continued, "we were touring New Mexico, you kept wearing a green shirt with embroidered flowers on stage."

"Shit, so I did. With my hair what was I thinking?"

"Looked pretty darn cute to me, especially when the top poppers burst open!"

"How do you remember that stuff. Yesterday you didn't know what day of the week it was?"

"That's easy, I ever only take in the good bits. The rest is just noise."

Rayna could feel her cell vibrate in her bag again. When they stopped at a filling station she went to the rest room. There were 3 text from Luke.

_Good Morning – OK?_

_Everything fine with DC?_

_Let me know you're alright x_

She deleted them quickly and shot one back.

_All good Thank you for everything._

There was one from Bucky too.

_GENIUS - grt soon_

Finally she rung Rachael, clocking in to keep the dogs at bay

Deacon drove them deep into the country taking seemingly taking random turnings, until pulling off the highway and into a country park. When he finally killed the motor Rayna could see a trail-path sloping towards sapphire blue water, framed by green and grey scrub, the wide Texan sky above them. Deacon breathed deeply. "Ah, so good to get the city out of my lungs." A faint ticking from under the hood as the engine cooled, bird calls from across the reservoir and young children's play laughter. Rayna was transported back to her girlhood with her mother and Tandy, this was just the sort of spot they would have come to, but try as she could Rayna could not place Daddy at any of those outings.

They took the easy hike to the water's edge. Deacon skimmed stones, of course he did, and with complete nonchalant ease. An art that Rayna had never mastered.

"Here, let me show you." Standing behind Rayna, he took her wrists in a strong grip and practised the motion with her. On the third attempt they got a stone to bounce twice, victory of sorts. Locked together he nuzzled her soft warm neck. Briefly she stiffened then allowed herself to be swept into his embrace. Only after release did he finally ask after the previous night's show.

"A friend helped me out." Rayna told him and he took it well, calmly, like he had a choice.

"I let you down baby, and that hurts more than the biggest hangover God could throw at me." She stared out over the water. "I just gotta rise out the ditch and start over again." He added, pulling a harmonica from his top pocket and tooting. Distractions Rayna thought, running away from the central issue and any responsibility, like he always did. He was obviously still not ready to face up to the truth, but maybe she wasn't either and a distracted, functioning Deacon on tour was certainly a better prospect than a drunk, spiky and tiresome one. Besides, that was one hell of a hook he'd just pulled from that instrument.

In front of the T bird, picnic remains scattered on a rug Deacon looked upon Rayna as she leant against the chrome, hugging her knees. So damn hot. Her face held a classic beauty now but her eyes still shone with the same relentless desire of the teenage country wannabe he had first seen on a barstool cracking out standards with a maturity and confidence way beyond her years. It hadn't been the Daisy Dukes and coy white halter top that caught him, well not just that. But that voice. It carried all the fire of her hair, the sparkle of her iris and guts to project across a noisy bar more decidedly than many established singers. He'd known then he wanted to work with her, and more.

To shape that talent and give it a platform to shimmer on. More than a decade on and deep down Deacon still felt the same, it was just that so much had happened since, shit getting in the way and the harder he tried to force, the more the magic eluded him. Here in this piece of countryside, Rayna off guard, the pressures of the tour thrown aside, it was easy to believe again.

Back on the road and Deacon hung a right, the signposts pointed to San Antonio.

"Deac', where we going?"

"Enjoy the ride, we've got this old lady all day and I'm going to make the most of her. Rayna was wearing his cap now, the speed breeze buffeting them and the first hint of evening in the sky. Urban sprawl, stop, start traffic, gasoline fumes, horns, a police siren. Then he was veering off and into the concrete jungle of an old drive in movie complex.

"Wha… you cannot be serious."

"Darlin' were in a 50s dream machine, where else is a boy gonna bring his best gal?"

She was laughing despite herself. "Someone will see."

"SShhh, pull that cap down, nobody will be looking for a country music star here."

He arranged burgers and shakes and from their authentic portable retro booth, the two of them settled in to watch Austin Powers.

Much later in the suite Rayna pulled off the cap and glanced at the single sheet of A4 Rachel had left. The details were laid out for next day's schedule, and begun with 'Check Out 10:45…' She had one hand on the buckle of her jeans. "I need a shower…. Care to join me?" Deacon could barely stop grinning to plant the first kiss.

Steamed up mirror, damp, crumpled towelling, the detritus of their clothing forming a breadcrumb trail across the floor. Rayna spun and side stepped towards the bed, Deacon all over her, all around her, stroking, caressing, pressing into her flesh. Their breath came in short bursts, any attempts at all sex talk had been lost to animal moans. The spark between them was earthing with primeval magnetism. She fell onto the divan, he on top and she locked her long tanned legs around him. Her nails gouged into his back, spurring him, the beautiful woman now a blur of fresh, moist skin and wayward hair. For the first time since before tour rehearsal Deacon Claybourne felt complete, and utterly fulfilled.

"Looks like I require another shower," he noted, "alone this time would be best." As Rayna lay in the tangled linin she knew that by the time they caught up with the tour machine, she and Deacon would be walking into soundcheck hand in hand, as if nothing of the past couple of days had ever occurred, daring anyone else to contradict them. What neither of them guessed was that from now on, nothing would ever be the same.


	2. Chapter 2

Silver Thunderbird -2

_A/N It bugs me. Deacon is the biological father of Rayna's eldest daughter, but Teddy brings Maddie up as his own. _And nobody notices. _Not Deacon from his drunken pit, but not the conservative country music world either. How did Rayna end up in this place and then pull off the greatest pivot of her life? Well this is one way and it's inevitably going to be far more angst than Dayna. Thanks for the feedback and deep appreciation to everybody who has ever clicked through. _

Hotel bathrooms are pretty similar places. Sure, the more stars the establishment, the classier the toiletries, the fluffier the towels and greater the floor-space, but on the whole when you've seen one, you've seen them all. In her time Rayna had seen a lot of hotel bathrooms. She sat in one now, 4 hours prior to her last performance of the tour and thought. Media reaction had been very positive, the album was back at number one on the country chart and top five on the Billboard 200, her A-lister directed video was getting heavy rotation and a Rolling Stone feature was about to hit the streets. Yet Rayna was a realist, who took nothing for granted. She worried about her future, the timing of her next project, and most of all worried about what the hell to do with Deacon Claybourne.

The tour roller-coaster of performance highs and sheer drudgery had taken its toll on them both. These days when things derailed Deacon only really knew one way out. After Austin he'd stayed good, until a show beset by technical glitches, none of them the band's fault, put him in a foul mood and incapable of performing the next night. In Kanas City he went out to hook up with an old road buddy and never showed for the gig. The stench in that particular hotel bathroom so powerful that Rayna was retching the following morning. Then on the flight to Montreal he was caught out by complementary booze and altitude. Traveling first, and thankfully away from any press he spewed a winey, petty discourse at Rayna; railing against half the Nashville music community, starting naturally with Luke Wheeler, before falling stone asleep. When he woke on descent the entire spectacle was a blank to him. Between hitting the tarmac and introducing her band on stage Rayna did not speak a word to Deacon, yet that night he played out of his skin. Every riff, bended note and freight train chug fizzed in the space between them on stage. His guitars cajoled, harmonised and pleaded with her. Echoed her voice and projected their musical and physical partnership all the way back to the far wall. When it was finally just the two of them alone, he opened his mouth to apologise, again, only for Rayna to clamp her own lips onto it, her tongue probing. Their love making was wild, spontaneous and in its embers Rayna could briefly feel she had shrugged off the fatigue of the last couple of weeks.

Time up, Rayna looked down at the test strip, it showed positive just as the last two had done. She could no longer pretend to deny what her body had been telling her. Selecting Tandy on her cell, her finger hovered over the text option, until with determination she flipped back to menu. Once home, she was going to need to see her Doctor in Nashville.

"You OK in there baby?" Smooth concern for her, like he could be whenever she got the flu, making her hot honey and lemon drinks and fixing blankets.

"Fine," she lied.

"You know, I never have worked out what it is with girls and bathrooms."

"Well funning enough, we don't just end up looking drop dead gorgeous by accident."

"Now that I refuse to believe," he replied, "in your case at least."

She stuffed the evidence into her bag, splashed some water around and unlocked the door.

The post sound-check, pre-show twilight zone meant sugary doughnuts and strong, bitter, black coffee. It had become something of a ritual. With thick NYC traffic there was no sense in going back to the hotel, so in order to get some privacy they had decamped to the tour bus. Bucky, there for the tour's climax sat in with them.

"Getting like the old days," Deacon said, "'cept then it was yesterday's doughnuts for breakfast, a couple of Marlborough for lunch and whatever food the venue had left over after the gig."

"Speak for yourself," she laughed, "At least I tried to stay healthy, sending Vince off to the local deli whenever you took forever tuning that 12 string."

A moment of pain passed over his face and Rayna cursed herself for letting her guard down. She looked for a concession. "Not that either of you ever put on an ounce, sweeting over putting the back line up."

"No sense in playing to a full house if the sound balance wasn't right." Deacon replied.

"Yeah, and the tour manger would have got the blame for that one." Added Bucky.

"Naturally." Rayna rustled the paper bag, diving in for another stodge hit. "How was your flight Buck?"

"Gruesome, I detest turbulence. Luckily for me not as much as Teddy Conrad."

"Teddy?"

"The very same. I bumped into him after check in, he was flying to New York on business. When I caught up with him again in the terminal I swear he was still green from motion sickness. I've put him on the guest list for tonight, hope you don't mind."

"No good idea." Rayna's mind spun, Teddy who knew her tour itinerary, just happened to be going to New York the very day of her concert. Coincidence or clever planning? Deacon stayed silent, the mug hiding his grimace.

There was a knock on the bus door, Rachel from Edgehill. "The radio station competition winners have arrived Rayna, You OK to meet and greet in 10?"

"Sure hon," and the smooth Southern Belle clicked into place.

When she had gone the two men sat facing each other. Deacon's eyes darted around the small space, everything around him shouted 'Rayna' back at him, smudged red on the mug, a discarded napkin she'd doodled on. Not lyrics he noticed, but asymmetric shapes and stick men. Even the neatly made bunk opposite reminded him of her. On tours long over, that would have been his birth, though his a lot more scruffy, somewhere to lie restless, heart hammering until he could creep down the bus to the master-suite and her bed.

"Have you thought any more about trying the program again?" Bucky asked gently.

Deacon's brows drew closer. "That didn't you take long, did she put you up to this? Giving me the once over, good cop bad cop bullshit."

"No, I'm asking as a friend, because I'm worried about you. Not for Rayna's sake."

"Well I thank you most kindly for your concern, but for your information, no, I've not thought about it because they do not work."

"But maybe this time…"

"You're not listening are you? Why does nobody ever listen to me? Oh wait, I know, because I'm the drunk guitar player who can't be trusted. But I'm the only one here who knows the truth. Nothing any Doc, shrink or councillor can tell me will make me feel any worse than I do, when I screw up on Ray. This is my mess, I have to handle it."

"There is no shame in asking for help Deacon."

He slid out from the seating area. "Excuse me, I have a show to get ready for. You go and double check the guest list or some'ing"

On days like this, when Deacon put his mind behind it, music could still win though, push the demons aside and hold him in her wistful magic. Lightly he strummed through Meryl Haggard songs on his acoustic in the dressing room, until the howl and clamour, the bright lights and jubilant sea of faces. A good groove with the band and Deacon was in control, laying a board for Rayna's voice to dance over. All for one final night. The show passed like clockwork, lighting, sound, everything fell into place for a knowledgeable and expectant East coast crowd.

At the conclusion of the last number of the encore Rayna took a deep bow, Deacon clicked the pedal and pulled the guitar away from his sweat soaked denim stage shirt. He was facing the wing, hoping for a nod of approval from Bucky, placing the instrument back on its stand, when the audience cheers peaked. Surely much louder than just another wave from Rayna deserved?

"Good Evening Everybody." A familiar voice rung out from the PA. Deacon turned around to see Rayna stage front, rising from her bow and a Stetson looming into the spotlight.

"Luke?" Rayna cried, only Deacon and Bucky able to detect the small freeze to both her smile and voice.

"I couldn't miss this party" Luke Wheeler responded, laughing into a radio microphone. "That was some show pretty lady. But I am really here to tell you that your album Rayna Jaymes, 'Big Open Skies' has been certified as platinum; and this Gentleman with me has the disc to prove it." The audience cheered wildly, Deacon and the band applauded and Rayna's eyes lit up with relief.

"Oh my, thank you so much. Thanks y'all for buying the album."

"Well I bought it," Luke said, turning to the audience, "did you guys?"

The volume of response rang in Deacon's ears.

"Thank you," laughed Rayna as the platinum presentation disc was passed over, "Thank you, and you and you," she pointed randomly at the jiggling crowd in front of her.

"Now as I am here, what about one more song? I can help out if you like…" Luke continued to MC above the hub bub. "See they want it. Deacon my man, can you give us 'Blue Afternoons?'" The pride Deacon had been feeling for Rayna's achievement dropped stone like, as he reached for his acoustic guitar, and soon found himself playing the duet he had specifically written for Rayna, only this time for her and Luke Wheeler to perform.

At the end of tour party Rayna circulated with consummate ease. Blessed with an ability to remember names, faces and back stories, she skated through chit-chat, asked after wives and daughters and generally worked the room. She was trying to weave a path towards Teddy when a label guy lassoed her, and she was literally cornered until Bucky could come to the rescue. Not far away two of the road crew were ideally talking.

"Deacon's very quiet tonight," said one.

"Yeah, he's usually the big party animal."

"This 'll loosening him up," the first continued, holding a bottle of Bud in one hand and a small blue pill in the other. He dropped the pill down the brown glassneck and foam fizzed up.

Deacon, who had taken to drinking plain water out of a hi-ball looked up as someone slapped his shoulder blade.

"For you boss."  
"Thanks man, cheers" and Deacon took a swig of only his second beer of the evening, mentally congratulating himself on his pacing.

It was past midnight as Rayna finally mounted a small stage in the hotel function room to make a thank you speech and present Rachel with one of her own stage jackets as a tour souvenir. The party noise was subsiding, as like an alley cat, Luke sidled into the room. Beginning with Bucky and Deacon all the key personal received a name check. There was particular applause for the rhythm guitarist who as Rayna put it had "made himself invaluable." No mention for Luke though, and he was certain she'd spotted him from the platform. Rayna climbed down and the DJ kicked back in. Luke caught her arm as she plucked canopies from a side table.

"How many platinums' do you have now?"

Rayna was not sure if sounded more arrogant to answer with confidence or let him think she'd lost count. She compromised. "Er, five I think. I've sung so many different songs this last month that it's all a bit of a blur."

"Two more than me then babe."

"Right place, right time I guess. You're not doing so bad yourself, family man now, got a big house with its own stable yard Bucky tells me."

"Yeah something like that." Not all of Luke's oats had yet been sown, and Rayna was to him very much the one that got away. He blamed that fairly and squarely on Deacon, and Rayna's obsession towards him."

Across the room that self-same Deacon found himself seriously struggling. His vison slipped in and out of focus and somehow the background noise phased in time to it. Like dropping below the waterline in the bath tub. God he was thirsty. Making an effort he saw Ray in conversation with Luke, that sharpened him up alight. Luke Wheeler, married, with a young boy, marriage already heading for the rocks if you believed the gossip, staring directly at Rayna with a look Deacon understood only too well. She laughed at some probably stupid joke and rested a hand on his shoulder. HIS shoulder, not Deacon's, the shoulder of the one who should be protecting her, 'cept all too often recently it had been HER shoulder that Deacon needed. He drained the beer dregs and started to amble over.

Rayna made her excuses and moved on. Luke watched her shimmy, with determination towards some man in a sober suit. Not country Luke thought, but no-one he recognised from the record industry either, and this was supposed to be a media free event. So just who the hell was he?

"Teddy, at last how are you? Thank you for coming out tonight."

Teddy Conrad smiled jadedly "Hi Rayna, I think there must be over 50 people in this room and I recognise precisely six of them, including myself. Please tell me I haven't just been talking to some hot shot country artist and completely blown him out."

"No that was Wayne, he's a truck driver."

"Phew! I enjoyed your show though. Much less rhinestones or songs about broken hearts and dead dogs than I expected."

"Ah, you know I like to mix it up a little. Rock out for the crowd. I'm keeping the dog died songs back for my next album."

"Luke."

"Deacon."

Like two gun slingers they sized each other up.

"Fine party," Luke drawled, "Are Edgehill footing the bill?"

"I could have guessed you'd be thinking about the money side. No Rayna's paying, cos she's generous like that. Sometimes a little too generous with people who don't deserve it, but hey, that's cool."

"I've got a laminate from her management Deacon, you can inspect it if you like."

"Oh I'm sure your legit, but for so someone who's not in her band, or even on the label, you got a bit too close to her for my liking tonight." The room felt like it was closing in on Deacon, the whole universe condensing into Luke , himself and a few squares of carpet tile.

"Just supporting a friend, when she needs it. That's something that you haven't always been doing recently, or so I hear."

"You don't know…"  
"I know enough to see when a lady is being let down by her so called partner, who can't get his shit together."

Deacon swung an instinctive right. Luke pulled back and would have been clear had not the forward momentum of the punch skewed Deacon's wild arm into Luke stubbly chin. The two sprawled over the floor, chairs scattering around them. Rayna turned at the noise, ran from Teddy and got to the tangled stalemate just after Bucky and security began to pull the two men apart. She rushed from the room in tears.

As a burly security guard propelled Deacon towards the elevators and Bucky tactfully, but insistently persuaded Luke to leave by a side door and find his driver, Teddy looked around for Rayna. Nowhere in sight. He stepped out into the corridor, walking away from the main foyer, deeper into the hotel. He soon found her in a stairwell, looking out through an open window into a black internal courtyard.

He coughed politely and she recognised. "I just need air." Rayna said without turning around.

"I know." And Rayna felt he did know, he had listened to so many of her woes these last few years.

"I thought he was getting to a good phase again, and then he goes and plays some dumb stunt like that." She faced him now, mascara blotched, breathing in short pants.

"Well something, or at least some_one_ set him off."

"Always does, but such tiny things can make him turn. I keep seeing this happen. It's worse than before his last shot at rehab. I – I don't think I can take it anymore Teddy."

"Shhh. He always sobers up and you always forgive."

Rayna, rabbit like looked around, then grabbing the door of a walk-in linen closet pulled them both inside. A light sensor switched on as she closed the door behind them.

Teddy was completely bemused. "No more forgiveness," she whispered, "the truth is I just can't fully trust Deacon around me. Right at the time that I needed to most, because stupidly one way or another, I've got myself pregnant."

Weaker men than Teddy Conrad would have buckled. "'That night, I thought we were very…"  
"Exactly, I'm just saying I not totally sure, that's all."

"And Deacon?" he asked.

"Not got a clue. And you know what, right now, I'm actually glad about that."

"I can see why you may think that." Any moment now the absurdity of holding this intense, muted conversation with one of America's major country music stars in a hotel closet was going to hit home to Teddy. But not quite yet. It was almost as if he was moving smoothly through the agenda of an everyday work meeting. Point 3 – further actions: "So that being the case, you and I will just have to get married."

"What?" It was a high pitched breathy whistle that pieced his skull. "You are joking me?"  
"No, I 've never been more serious in my life."

"But you're the computerised risk analysis, the man who measures up everything. You would be taking on another man's lover and very probably his unborn child?"

"Rayna, I've loved you from the first time I saw you perform at The Bluebird, and if that's what it takes to fully win you then I'm fine with it. I can never be Deacon, I fully appreciate that. But I could be there at every step of the way, for you and the baby, and I want to. Paternity is not important, having a father who can support your child is."

Rayna desperately tried to remember Teddy ever being at The Bluebird Café. "Look, my brain's shot to pieces tonight. A couple of hours back I was getting an award, very soon I'll have to share a hotel room with an apologetic alcoholic who could be in any sort of mess. I'm not exactly at my most rational."

Teddy responded with genuine emotion "I think you are doing amazing. Promise me you will think it over, that's all I ask."

"Of course I promise. Now how do you suggest we exit this goddam closet without causing a scandal?"

The flight home was strained. Deacon talked about how, on reflection, maybe he should give the program another go, take some time out and try to make it stick. Rayna willingly agreed, said she would help organise, as it was clearly the best thing he could do for himself. That part at least was true, though what life Deacon would return to afterwards, she had no idea. Secrets she felt were poison, as damaging as the toxins that swamped Deacon's veins. The secrets that Rayna held had started small, but were now literally growing inside her. The seven unanswered calls to Deacon the night before the tour begun, and the single one to Teddy that he picked up. How she had excused her behaviour as necessity, an overwhelming need to disperse the pressure from her mind, just for a few brief, one off, no strings, no regrets, hours. But in reality she had fallen into the slutty thing, exactly as Deacon fell for the bottle. She wasn't fit to judge. These were the sort of secrets that could knife Deacon. She had to keep the cards off the table, for his sake and for her career.

Deacon too was keeping things back, like how scared he was that just two beers could flip him so wildly. He'd often wanted to punch Luke Wheeler full in the face, but his brain had been so wired that he could scarcely remember it, let alone get any pleasure from the action. What was happening to him? Across the aisle Bucky put his paperwork down and feigned sleep. Deacon forced himself to look out the window, he craved her disapproving eyes, wanted to glance over and see just how much her body language repelled against him, for what he had done. Instead he stayed still, feeling he did not deserve even that from her. Rayna meanwhile sat in metal isolation, turning the pages of the novel on her denim clad knees, without really taking a word in. The straw that had finally broken them was not Deacon's fault and sadly nobody knew.


End file.
